Chapter 129 — Speaking

Song Yan's exquisite face still carried a trace of boyishness; Dou Yan could even make out the fine down on his lips. The person before her was nothing like the tall, vigorous, dignified figure in her memory.

In her mind's eye arose the image of him holding a spoon and drinking soup.

First a small sip, then down it went in one gulp.

No matter how much he disliked it, he never complained.

He was, at this moment, still only a youth.

A thirteen-year-old youth.

Was she being too hard on him?

Then let her set aside the grudge in her heart and treat him as she would any ordinary youth. She should not make him answer for things he had never done. That, too, would be unfair to him!

Her mind thus unburdened, Dou Xin spoke openly: "I forgive you!" Yet she would not, on that account, forget what manner of man he was. "Then can you bring Old Chen back first? He is advanced in years and cannot withstand too much jolting about, and I need him at my side to help manage matters!"

"You need someone who once served as aide to a third-rank frontier governor to help manage matters?" Her smile was placid and forbearing, faintly touched with tenderness, and Song Yan's heart warmed in answer. He liked this atmosphere of talk, and so he said with a smile, "This sounds like a troublesome business. Why not tell me about it? I am rather good at helping people come up with ideas!"

That would hardly be necessary!

"I have opened a shop selling writing brushes and ink," Dou Yan said, half truthfully and half not. "Thanks to Old Chen's help. Now that Old Chen has gone to the capital, everything on my side has fallen into disarray."

"Do you mean to save for a dowry?" Song Dan said. "Shall I introduce you to a bit of business? If it goes well, it can become a long-term arrangement, and the terms of payment are very good."

Dou Yan's eyes went wide.

Song Yan did not seem the warmhearted sort.

Why had he suddenly thought to introduce her to business?

They did not have that kind of friendship, did they?

But clearly Song Ke thought otherwise.

His smile deepened. "The Shuntian Prefectural School and the Imperial College print great quantities of examination essays and model papers every year. My family happens to have a fellow whose name was struck from the register now working as a menial at the Shuntian Prefectural School. When the time comes, have the manager of your shop go find him."

She meant to go her way and let him go his, like bridge and road, never to cross paths again. Not to remain entangled with him.

Dou Yan was caught between laughter and tears, and refused him outright: "I think we had better not. This business is too troublesome. My shop only sells ready-made brushes and ink."

"Since you have taken it up, you must do it as well as it can be done." Song Yan's tone was that of a tutor, brooking no argument, and he walked straight to the writing desk. "I will write you a letter. When the time comes, take my letter and go find him." Then he told her the man's name and what he looked like.

Dou Yan had no choice but to thank him, and called Ganlu in to grind the ink for him, but Song Yan refused: "No need. I can do it myself."

Then do it yourself.

She was not in the habit of exerting herself for strangers.

Dou Yan sat to one side drinking tea.

The sound of ink being ground rose in the room.

Neither light nor heavy, neither hurried nor slow, like a stone mill turning, unhurried and at ease, with no trace of sluggishness at all.

How much strength must that take!

Dou Chi let out a soft "oh?" and looked over.

Song Yan stood easily before the desk, the hand pinching the ink stick fair and fine. His finger joints were long, and his wrist turned in slow circles. The clear water dripping into the inkstone gradually took on color.

Dou Yan thought of the way he walked.

It too carried a touch of casualness, and yet was so natural.

Was it, after all, as Duan Bing said, that he had learned some peculiar martial art? Or was it the deportment cultivated in him since childhood?

The more Dou Yan looked, the more she felt his bearing to be elegant, a pleasure to the eye.

She could not stop the curiosity rising in her heart.

What exactly had happened back then, that he would kill his father and slay his brother?

How had a figure bright as a pearl come to sink to being the Liao Prince's executioner?

That line from Song Yan's former life—"Not everyone is fit to be a parent"—echoed long in the depths of her heart, and gradually congealed into a thorn.

"Here, take it!" At some point Song Yan had finished the letter. He waved the sealed envelope before her face and said with a smile, "What are you worrying about?"

"No, nothing to worry about." Dou Qu reined in her thoughts and hastily took the envelope, examining it closely.

He had written in the courtly style.

Sturdy and weighty, conveying a sense of solidity.

Dou Yan brought the envelope closer to look.

That was right—sturdy and weighty, giving one a feeling of steadiness.

How could a person's handwriting and his character be so utterly at odds?

She looked at Song Yan, her thoughts in a muddle, not knowing what to say.

Song Yan, however, turned a blind eye to her oddness. He lay down on the reclining chair in the study, closed his eyes, rested his hands naturally on his belly, and began to rock back and forth with a creak-creak.

On a summer afternoon, all was still and silent. The rustle of wind through the branches and the creak of the rocking chair sang in harmony, making the scene seem tranquil and peaceful, lulling one toward drowsiness.

Then Song Yan's voice suddenly rose in the room: "Just before I came, I buried my cousin."

Dou Yan gave a start and came fully awake.

"My cousin's given name was Hanzhu. She was the posthumous daughter of my second uncle." His eyes still closed, his voice very soft, carrying a thread of gentle warmth, he went on: "She was three years older than I, and the gentlest, most kindhearted of souls. Not only was she skillful with needle and thread, she had also learned a fine set of martial arts, and all the sisters in the family adored her. She used to say to me with a smile, 'Tianci, when you grow up, never bully girls just because you were born handsome.'"

Dou Yan sat up straight.

She saw a drop of moisture well up at the corner of Song Yan's eye.

"Yin Zhi, a kinsman from my eldest aunt's natal family, was highly skilled in martial arts, openhearted and forthright, and rarest of all, never reckless." A faint choke crept into his voice. "They were fond of each other. My grandmother and eldest aunt were both delighted to see it. But my cousin had lost her father as a child and was raised by my eldest aunt, who feared the girl would be wronged, so she packed Yin Zhi off to Fujian, hoping he might win some official post and thereby let my cousin marry in glory.

"When Yin Zhi left, he asked me to give my cousin a gold hairpin wrought in the shape of twin lotus blossoms."

Dou Yan clutched at her own collar.

"When my eldest uncle was brought to trial, my mother feared no one would look after my cousin, and wanted me to marry her.

"My father was against it at first, but seeing that the Jiang family seemed bound for ruin, he could not hold out against my mother and reluctantly agreed.

"Six days ago, my third and fifth uncles were escorted to Tieling Guard, and His Majesty in his grace permitted my grandmother to visit them. Only then did we learn. Yin Zhi, in defending my eldest uncle, had already been beaten to death by the Embroidered Uniform Guard two months before. That very night, she drove the gold hairpin Yin Zhi had given her into her own throat and took her life..."

Dou Yan's teeth chattered. She felt her face turn cool, and when she touched it, it was all wet.

She hurriedly turned away, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped her tears, silently thanking her lucky stars that she seldom wore powder. Otherwise, in such a state, she would not dare be seen.